In the Wake of Tucson: A Call to Moral Responsibility  
By Kay Whitlock

Even as Rep. Gabrielle Giffords (D-AZ), the survivor of an assassination attempt on January 8 that put a bullet in her brain, wounded thirteen others, and left six people dead, engaged in a demanding rehabilitation regimen, the accused gunman, Jared Lee Loughner, pleaded “not guilty” in federal court.

By all accounts, Loughner is a troubled, mentally unstable young man.  Many analysts have documented Loughner’s belief in the conspiracy theories promoted by various right-wing groups, and he seems to have regarded Giffords as his mortal enemy.

Whether he actually pulled the trigger will be decided, as it should, in a court of law. Yet the person who fired the gun is by no means the only one who bears some measure of moral responsibility for this shooting spree. The events in Tucson unfolded in a fear-soaked, paranoia-laden, resentment-stoked, and violently polarized political environment.  Who, then, is accountable—and beyond a narrow understanding of criminal liability, what does accountability mean in a case like this? 

In the aftermath of the shootings, progressives told a well-documented story about escalating right-wing vitriol, underscoring a disturbing pattern of politically motivated violence that had been developing for years.  The Tucson shootings, which garnered worldwide media attention because of Giffords’s political prominence, were only the latest pieces to be added to the mosaic. Liberal and progressive groups documented not only the Right’s promulgation of fear and hatred toward purported traitors but also the constant amplification of that message through right-wing controlled media.

Predictably, Glenn Beck, Rush Limbaugh, Sarah Palin, and Bill O’Reilly, among others, lashed out, labeling Loughner as a deranged, extremist loner and denouncing the politicization of a terrible crime.  Loudly denying any culpability for the violent political atmosphere, they accused liberals, Democrats, and Pima County Sheriff Clarence Dupnik of demonizing conservatives, failing to keep the community safe, and even destroying the country.  

Others simply dismissed the notion that a steady stream of violent rhetoric is harmful. The conservative New York Times columnist David Brooks rejected wholesale the idea that the Tucson killings were fostered by a climate of hate, saying the very suggestion “that political actors” were in any way culpable was “extremely grave” and “vicious.”[1]

A bogus media theme conflating right-wing and left-wing rhetoric conveniently took hold—what the New York Times columnist Frank Rich called, “the pious, feel-good sentiment that both sides are equally culpable for the rage.”[2]  Such media pundits as David Gregory (NBC), Matt Bai (New York Times), and Dan Baltz (Washington Post) helped to mainstream the message.[3] Indeed, both the Left and the Right resort to demonizing rhetoric from time to time; however, liberals and progressives have not made it a reliable and consistent tactic and do not possess the media equivalent of Fox News, Rush Limbaugh’s radio outreach, or other right-wing broadcast media to amplify the rhetoric.  Moreover, as the Washington Post’s Eugene Robinson pointed out well before the Tucson shootings, It is dishonest for right-wing commentators to insist on an equivalence that does not exist.  The danger of political violence in this country comes overwhelmingly from one direction—the right, not the left.  The vitriolic, antigovernment hate speech that is spewed on talk radio every day—and, quite regularly, at Tea Party rallies—is calibrated not to inform but to incite…Demagogues scream at people that their government is illegitimate, that their country has been ‘taken away,’ that their elected officials are ‘traitors’ and that their freedom is at risk…They have a right to free speech…[b]ut they shouldn’t be surprised if some listeners take them literally.[4]

Rich and Robinson are correct.

Following the passage of the federal healthcare reform bill in 2010, some Democrats in Congress—including Giffords—received anonymous threats and were targeted for incidents of vandalism at their homes or offices.[5] But the danger goes far beyond threats; the recent record of killings and attempted violence shows clear links to the influence of far-right scapegoating and conspiracy theories.[6]

So, is anyone willing to take up the more difficult question of moral responsibility? The nation seems also to have entered a plea of “not guilty.” 

The theater of accusation developed in response to the tragedy of Tucson is all too familiar:  “they hate and are trying to destroy us.” It’s an appealing and potent political message, not only for the Right but also for us progressives.  After all, it is easy to decry the “extremists”— the shooters, the arsonists, the bombers, the vandals, and those who encourage them through inflammatory rhetoric.  

But how do we show that Tucson was just not about “a crazy loner” with too much time and ammo on his hands?  How do we bring into vivid focus the reality that respectable leaders, together with public and private institutions who want to ensure that power remains in the hands of wealthy, White males, have always fueled hatreds and resentments, while washing their hands of responsibility when disturbed individuals inevitably do some of their dirty work?

We will never end political violence by denouncing the actions of others while denying our own complicity—often tacit and unintentional—in supporting its structural underpinnings.   Today, liberal advocacy and civil rights groups increasingly organize and fundraise around the message, “Stop Hate.”  While a worthy aspiration, it is not a message that calls us to transform either the conditions that bolster and reinforce structural violence or the demonizing political rhetoric that protects it.  Nor can we effectively expand our base of support when our primary recruiting message to people who believe themselves to be moral and decent but don’t (yet) agree with us boils down to, “You’re a hater. Stop it! Just say no!”

To develop a progressive politics of transformation, we have to stop speaking primarily to ourselves while insisting that only evil others are responsible for the current state of affairs.   We may not be guilty of firing the shots in Tucson, but we are all responsible for what happens next.  None of us holds all the answers, but together, we can develop them.

That, however, requires willingness to reach out in new ways to people who may not yet be with us, but yearn for something better and share many of our concerns—including the favoring of Wall Street over Main Street, low wages and unemployment, lack of affordable healthcare and housing, attacks on Social Security, crumbling public school infrastructure, and lack of community safety.  Recent right-wing/Republican Party assaults on unions and public sector employees—school teachers, nurses, and other government workers—in Wisconsin and a growing number of states have fostered powerful new waves of protest and resistance to the attacks.   How can we build on and sustain protests while also addressing the hunger for something better?

Our usual modes of campaign-focused, single-issue organizing and increasing reliance on Internet communications can’t meet the challenge of the moment, because they cannot substantively address the question of shared moral responsibility for the well-being of all our neighbors.

The challenge is to expand our communities’ capacity to care for one another, build a collective stake in a more compassionate future, and bring collective pressure to bear when public and private institutions not only foster injustice but also seek to consolidate power by stoking fear and deploying violently demonizing rhetoric and images.   Deeper change demands an emphasis on building strong, trustworthy relationships across issues and constituencies in our own locales. The particularities of how the hardship is distributed across many groups—communities of color, immigrants, indigenous peoples, LGBT folks, seniors, people with disabilities—should concern us.  What would safe and just communities for all really look like?  What strategies hold the promise of producing such communities?  And how do we start?

That’s where renewed commitment to “boots to the ground,” grassroots community organizing comes in.  We start by getting folks together and developing a common agenda, uniquely suited to local needs and conditions.  That’s harder—but also more rewarding—than it might initially seem. 

For example, some years ago, my economically diverse neighborhood was being hammered by a devastating set of political decisions: closing our beloved elementary school; displacing poor residents for the sake of aggressive, higher priced development; destroying open space; jacking up real estate taxes and prices. At the time, we lacked any organized voice.  We had to start from scratch.  We held a series of meetings, open to all, and to publicize them, we walked the neighborhood time and again, talking to people and delivering flyers to every house, apartment, trailer, and business.  We posted announcements and set up sidewalk sandwich board signs to encourage participation.  More and more people began to attend.  We did not discuss left-right divisions; rather, we had come together to talk about what we loved about our neighborhood and how the changes were affecting us. We wanted to figure out how to respond. 

We realized that, to be effective, we could never retreat to an insular vision of a community of agreeable people who were “just like me.”  We had somehow both to embrace our (sometimes profound) differences and develop and move forward with a common voice. Eventually, we developed a solid, inclusive neighborhood vision that today remains as valid as it was years ago.  And the vision isn’t just about stopping negative impacts; it also speaks to our collective hopes and dreams. We’ve won several heartening victories and lost a couple of heartbreaking battles.

Today, as a new round of destabilizing development threatens us, new waves of leadership and activism have a foundation on which they can build.  Because we meet over kitchen tables and get to know the families in the neighborhood and how everybody is doing during rough economic times, we have come to care about one another.  We understand the specifics of how our lives and our futures are interrelated.  We learn from one another’s experiences. This makes it easier to bridge at least some political divides with fresh ideas.  It’s not perfect—sometimes too few people are doing too much—but new folks are stepping up to help out.  We are constantly learning about how to challenge our local politicians as well as one another without relying on a politics of enemy formation.  We’re proud of having managed to do this within a severely polarized political environment—locally, statewide, and nationally.  

In San Antonio, Texas, the Esperanza Peace and Justice Center[7] offers another inspiring example of organizing within a framework that emphasizes a wildly inclusive vision of civil rights, economic justice, and cultural integrity for multiple communities, including women, people of color, LGBT people, and working-class and poor people.  With a focus on bridge building through cultural and artistic expression, education, crosscultural understanding, and community empowerment, Esperanza constantly strengthens the community’s ability to respond to pressing—and ever-changing—local, national, and global concerns. By providing meeting space and networking support for grassroots activists and groups as well as technical assistance in such areas as grant writing, alliance building, and board and membership development, Esperanza helps to expand the community’s capacity to organize for social and economic justice.  Art shows and cultural programs featuring drama, dance, poetry, performance art, and music touch hearts, impart history, and stir imaginations.  Through its passionate determination to address “the inherent connection of issues and oppressions across racial, class, sexual orientation, age, health, physical and cultural boundaries,” Esperanza shares resources, breaks down walls of isolation, and helps equip groups with what they need to keep going for the long haul. 

We are in this for the long haul.  Directly following the Tucson shootings, Republican politicians, leaders, and right-wing media revved up the toxic, violent rhetoric, exhorting us to be a nation of enemies.  In an interview with the Christian Broadcasting Network, John Boehner (R-OH), the Speaker of the House of Representatives, compared collective bargaining to armed hostage-taking, saying that unions have “a machine gun” aimed directly “at the heads of local officials.”[8] Echoing Rush Limbaugh, Tea Party groups refer to public employees and unions as “parasites.”[9]  

In response, progressives need to work on changing the entire frame of debate. Our visions of safe and just communities can inspire vibrant and expansive organizing.  Starting at the local level and moving out from there, we must develop the means to hold not only public and private leaders and institutions but also ourselves accountable for dismantling structural violence and tending to the collective well-being. 

We are all responsible.  Not because there is any equivalency in violent rhetoric between the Left and the Right, but because as progressives we believe that no lives and no communities are expendable.   

Kay Whitlock, who lives in Missoula, Montana, is co-author (with Joey L Mogul and Andrea J. Ritchie) of Queer (In)Justice:  The Criminalization of LGBT People in the United States (2011).